


And you, did I dream you?

by goodbyelover



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyelover/pseuds/goodbyelover
Summary: “Where are we going, little one?” asked Chan, though he followed Felix’s lead easily, the bed of moss soft beneath his bare feet.Felix paused for the first time, lips pursed in thought, eyes turning grave. “I think we’re going to make mistakes.”(Or: Felix walks through Chan's dreams with an ease he should not have.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	And you, did I dream you?

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE do make sure to take the tags into consideration ♥ I don't think this is super intense, but it can probably be considered upsetting.
> 
> We set out to write about Chan feeling guilty and then that is not what happened, lawl
> 
> Beta'd by @maricolous ♥

It was dark when Chan awoke, pulled groggily from the embrace of sleep by the creaking of the bedroom door. The softest glow of light came from the hallway – maybe a light from the kitchen he’d forgotten to turn off before going to bed.

Shuffling to his feet, Chan made his way out of the bedroom, stumbling slightly as his muscles were still heavy with sleep. It was colder, out in the hallway, the rest of the house lacking the soft warmth of blankets piled high. It made the residual warmth sink deeper into Chan’s chest.

There was a shadow standing at the top of the stairs, bathed in the dim yellow glow of the light from downstairs.

“Hey, love,” said Felix, turning to smile at Chan. Unlike Chan, he looked wide awake, eyes warm and smile affectionate.

“What are you doing out here?” asked Chan, muzzy and confused, the gears in his brain not yet up to speed.

Felix nodded towards the stairs. “Just felt like a walk. Want to come?” 

“Oh… Sure, yeah,” said Chan, glancing down at his tattered sleep pants and bare feet. “Gimme a minute, I just gotta – gotta change.”

“Come as you are, love,” said Felix, reaching a hand out, and his eyes were distractingly beautiful, like gemstones and embers, like meteors streaking through the night sky. “A walk waits for no one.”

He was so far away and Chan wanted to kiss him, so he padded forward to take Felix’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Felix’s palm was warm against his, as if to burn away the chill of the hallway as Felix drew him downstairs.

It was strange, walking with Felix. Chan was still heavy-limbed, still clumsy, like a newborn lamb who had not yet found their footing, but Felix moved through the house with sharp assurance, footsteps unerring in a way that was almost eerie as he led them through the house, past the kitchen with the lights still on, and to the front door.

Sunlight filtered through a forest bower when Felix opened the door, the air turning balmy – not the harsh heights of summer, but the gentle smolder before autumn.

“Where are we going, little one?” asked Chan, though he followed Felix’s lead easily, the bed of moss soft beneath his bare feet.

Felix paused for the first time, lips pursed in thought, eyes turning grave. “I think we’re going to make mistakes.”

But then he tugged on Chan’s hand again, setting off into the forest with that same sure-footed ease, even as Chan had to be careful not to trip over gnarled roots or patches of mud.

It felt a bit like the forest was made for Felix and not Chan.

They didn’t talk, for a time. Chan’s thoughts were sluggish, slowed, as if they had to press through honey to make themselves known. His tongue felt similarly weighed, heavy in his mouth. Trees melted into soft earth as the sky tried to absorb the foliage above them into its own atmosphere, and Chan can do naught but follow Felix along.

“Do you think we’re made with purpose?” asked Felix as they carefully slid into a ravine, his hand never leaving Chan’s, warmth entangled in the curl of his fingers against Chan’s palm.

Chan frowned, uncertain, distracted from the way the rocks tried to swallow his ankles. “You mean like… like fate or destiny? Or… I don’t know, God?”

“I think it’s arrogance,” said Felix, as if he hadn’t heard Chan at all. “Or maybe fear.” 

The furrow of Chan’s brow deepened and he couldn’t compel Felix to slow down, but he tried anyway. “Fear of what?”

Felix paused, amongst the desiccated trees of a bygone era. “Don’t you think it’s human to fear being alone? Can you tell me what difference there is between the fleeting invention of an imaginary friend and the fervent need for a higher being to have chosen _you_? You, in specific. You, in infinite.”

Chan didn’t know what to say to that, and then Felix was tugging at his wrist again, soft and unrelenting, as he drew Chan deeper through the husks of a past life. Above them, the sky yawned wide in endlessness.

Chan’s palm was warm against Felix’s.

The next question came a time later. “Do you wish you were a god?”

By now, Chan had figured out that he was dreaming – had grown accustomed to the tilted landscape enough to recognize that he was both here and still in bed, his breath slowed nigh unto death, a warm arm resting over the slow pulse of his heart. It was a strange sensation, following Felix along a cliff’s edge while he was contained by his own ribs, his own skull. 

“That’s too broad a question,” said Chan and the mountain shuddered, as if resonating with the throb of Chan’s heartbeat. “Narrow it down for me, Felix.”

“How about this instead,” said Felix, turning to Chan. He was smiling and he was beautiful and Chan felt it an error that the mountain did not collapse around them for the truth of it.

“How about this,” continued Felix, and still they went further and further. “Would you kill a god?”

“No,” said Chan, and something tilted further, only instead of it being the air around him, it was the air in his lungs. Something contained, but something straining to be free.

“You wouldn’t,” agreed Felix, and he was still smiling, the curve of his lips sharpening just a touch too much. “I would.”

Above them, the sun was red, like the gored flesh of a deity.

Felix led him around a bend, around a bend, around a bend, everything just out of sight – Chan knew they had not looped back on themselves. Somewhere tucked away inside him, where his brain met the knobs of his spine, he knew that if they looped back to the start, they would have to devour themselves.

Felix brought him to a stop, and Chan knew where they were, but everything was too out of focus to _acknowledge_ , and Felix did not look at him.

“Riddle me this,” said Felix, his voice softer, but not in a way that was gentle. Chan’s palm was so warm, it nearly hurt. “What’s your purpose, Chan?”

The question slithered into Chan’s mouth, slid down his throat invasively. It left his mouth dry and he could feel his real mouth open – an attempt to jar it loose, though it failed as he knew it would. The Chan he was in this moment was not the Chan who was dreaming.

“I don’t know if I have one,” he said, the question welling up to choke his answer, but he was also the dreamer, and so the answer was freed. “I don’t… I don’t think I do.”

Felix finally turned, his hand leaving Chan’s, and he became like the dream around them, unknowable. 

Chan’s lungs ached.

“You’re so sure that’s true,” said Felix, and his eyes were no longer beautiful. They were aflame, his flesh shriveling with the sickening hiss of evaporation. 

“But I think your purpose was to kill me.”

The dream snapped into harsh focus around Chan, not like a veil lifting, but like a mirror shattering, because a dream and a memory were not the same and when one became the other, it was in the unmaking of its opposite.

Felix stood before Chan, stood before him in the wreckage of a place they’d once called home, and he burned.

Chan forced his eyes open, the disorienting jolt of seeing the fire lick its way up Felix’s arms bleeding away to the plain white of his ceiling. It wasn’t enough, the dream was like a weight on his chest, a call for his eyes to close again so he could fall back into it. Felix's flesh peeled away, black ichor dripping from his ruinous body, his bones charred and cracking.

Chan bolted upright, chest heaving with the sudden movement, and his own breath cracked in his throat. Still, the dream tried to pull him back, not sweetly like a temptress, or desperate like a clawing animal, but simply inevitable.

The inevitability of Felix.

“Chan?” 

That broke through. The dream fled, as did the memory, and Chan was left in reality, his throat dry, his chest twinging. He was in a place far from where he called home, though now he called this home as well.

“Chan,” repeated Minho, sleepily concerned, but rousing with Chan’s silence, reaching over to nudge at Chan’s side. “What happened?”

The bedroom door was ajar, but there was nothing more than darkness beyond.

Chan’s palm was warm.

“It’s fine,” said Chan, not quite ready to lay down. He knew that the dream had left, but he didn’t trust it not to come slinking back if he fell back asleep so soon. “It’s fine. Just… just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

Minho made a drowsy noise, perhaps too softened by sleep to recognize the lie. He scooted in, pressed along Chan’s side like one of his cats. It was a comforting gesture.

It was _supposed_ to be a comforting gesture.

But a dream could lie and a memory could lie – what was there to say that reality would not pull the same cruel trick? A fire could burn in more ways than one.

Chan sat there, a while longer, letting the soft chill of the air outside the blankets settle into his skin, listening to Minho’s breathing even out.

His palm stayed warm.

**Author's Note:**

> ... Well. Happy new year!


End file.
